


Coming Home

by fireolin



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alluka mention, Killua is troubled over leaving Gon so many times, M/M, One Shot, Pre-relationship Killugon, Returning Home, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireolin/pseuds/fireolin
Summary: Killua returns to Whale Island without telling Gon he's coming. He fears it won't be the same.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> From an anonymous tumblr prompt: Gon's house, Killua feeling home. Thanks so much anon, and sorry this took me so long! I couldn't decide how I wanted to write it.

 

Against Killua’s fingertips in his pocket, the cardboard ticket feels both soft and scratchy. Rather like his feelings as he peers through the rain and over the crest of the wave ahead. The ferry’s engine rumbles up through his soles. Far ahead, a whale-like silhouette feels like the only solid thing around as it slowly grows larger. 

Killua wonders if he should he have said he was coming. What if Gon’s not there? No… Gon would’ve said if he was going away again. 

Wind pushes rain under his hood and down the neck of his plastic cape as the ferry lifts beneath him, and he shivers. In the cabin behind him, the windows are fogged, but he wants to see Whale Island approach. He won’t sit inside with the rest of the passengers or crew, even though he’s been travelling a long time and he’s the only one on deck and he’s exhausted.

 

 

_Thud—_

Killua’s soles hit the jetty. He dips forward to keep his face out of the rain that lashes the back of his hood, and strides towards the small group of shops ashore. Just as he reaches the old dock office at the end of the pier, shouts and a crash behind him swing him around. 

Maybe eighty meters away, at the stern of the ferry, three figures in hooded oilskins are struggling with a hoist. Dangling above them is a large wooden crate. The wind carries their curses, along with an ominous creaking. 

Idiots,  Killua thinks, narrowing his eyes and assessing the swell and the weather. He skims the scene for signs of anyone hurt. One car-sized crate has already smashed onto some wooden chests. What look like large melons are rolling down into the gap by the boat. The hull tips… Pink shoots everywhere. 

Killua sniggers. One melon gone, but the people are fine. He hitches his pack and jogs away past the office, which blocks the commotion off.

After sailing so long, the land feels as though it’s swaying like the sea beneath his feet. Soon he passes the small group of shops, his cape flapping in the wind, then he jogs the gravelly foreshore towards the turn-off Gon took him up years ago. At his approach, a dozen gulls soar up into shrieking, cawing flight. They’re a mass of white feathers and orange beaks. 

That’s been him for the last three years. Flying and jabbing, to protect Alluka. Not that he resents a moment — not when he loves her so deeply. 

But, she’s not the only one he loves. He knows now, he loves hard, even if he doesn’t go around announcing it. It’s the tenacity with which he’s protected Alluka until she’s safe and happy, left with Palm for a time to have more female company. It’s also the force pulling him back to Gon right now. It speeds his pace as he runs between fields, cottages, stone walls and hedges. It’s a warm and spiky ball in his chest. How _can_ you measure love? How can you compare it? His own words are a barb in his heart when he thinks about them, even though he’d gotten satisfaction at the time. He’d told Gon he was second when they’d first parted— but that was only because it had needed to be that way then. He’d hoped Gon understood that, but when he thought about it later, when he’d had more time to think, he wasn’t sure Gon had. And then it was too late. He and Alluka had had to start running. 

The rain eases to a mist, softening everything he sees, both now and in his past, and he lets his hood fall back. His hair slaps his neck and cheeks in twisted wet strings. As he races forward, it feels like everything but him has roots in the barely-seen landscape. The mud and pebbles are solid the instant his soles touch, then only the memory of movement remains. Whale Island slides past beneath him like a dreamscape. He’d thought, maybe when he made the shore that everything around him would stop moving at last and grow solid, but it hasn’t, and his legs and shoulders ache. 

If he has to turn around when he gets to Gon’s house, he will. But when Gon had brought him there that first time, it’d been fine, even though Gon hadn’t told Mito they were coming. Alluka’s the only one he’s told, not wanting to pressure Gon with his hopes or give away the depth of his need. Now, the ghost of her hug when she sent him off guards him from the wind that would push his stupid fears like a sail to send him back to the ferry. Another five hours until the ferry leaves. In his pocket, he still has the ticket that will take him away again.

 

 

Killua’s feet find the stone threshold at the entrance to Gon’s home. He adjusts the weight of his pack and looks up at the cottage. Water gurgles from somewhere above, falling in small rivulets down black timbers and white paint. Drops trace the woodgrain of the closed black door before him. Killua takes a deep breath, feeling strangely ill in his stomach, still at sea. Gon hasn’t run out to meet him.

He hadn’t imagined it this way. Gon was meant to burst from the front door as Killua made his way up the front path, and tear down the slope to him yelling, ‘ _Killuaaaaaaaaaa!’_ Gon would sweep him into a hug. Of course he’d blush and protest, but then he’d laugh and hold Gon tight, and inside his ribs he'd feel the sun rise.

But even a hug when Gon greets him indoors might be hoping for too much. It’s been a year since they last saw each other. Gon might’ve grown out of hugging him. Killua shifts under the weight of his pack and eyes the black paint. Probably Gon just hasn’t seen him. But the shutters to Gon’s bedroom window above had been open. He fidgets with the ticket in his pocket. Stupid to feel nervous. Gon’s his best friend, they’ve been emailing, texting, talking. The only thing he feels bad about is, whenever they’ve seen each other, he and Alluka have always been the ones who had to go first. He’s left Gon behind many times.

It’s just, there’s something else, a feeling that’s grown on him between the jetty and here, a weird certainty that Gon _knows_ he’s arrived.

So why hasn’t Gon run out?

His stomach has twisted into a knot.

This is stupid. He’s making stuff up. Killua grits his teeth, makes a fist and raps firmly on the door. If this doesn’t work out, he won’t stay, he’ll go back to Palm and Alluka. And when he leaves, this place and moment will vanish like all the others on the way here. 

…No. 

They won’t. This is to do with Gon, even if Gon’s not here. He holds his memories of Gon close, all of them, even the painful ones. When he pulls them out at night, they feel more real than anything. Which is why right now his stomach feels as hollow as the rap of his knuckles on the door.

  _What if it’s not the same?_

 

 

“Killua!” Mito’s brown eyes, so like Gon’s, open wide. “ You didn’t say you were coming!”  

Killua grins down at her. “I wanted to surprise Gon.” He shrugs his pack, still gripping the strap as he follows her inside out of the wind, where a fire leaps and snaps in the living room hearth. Her scolding wraps his ears like a warm blanket. The corner of his mouth lifts, though he lowers his gaze and watches her well-worn but spotless skirt settle around her boots. He’d say sorry, but… he’s not. He’s looked forward to her scolding and the cosy feeling it gives him. His cheekbones sting at the warmth from the fire as he lifts his eyes back to hers. “Is Gon here?” 

Mito continues to inspect his wet clothes and hair, and he shifts his weight, aware he’s dripping on her wooden floor. Her brow furrows and she speaks kindly but firmly. “Killua. You’d know if you’d messaged him. You should have told me you were coming and let me prepare. I _can_ keep a secret.” 

He knows that well enough, and tries not to think about how she hid the truth about Gon’s parents from him for years. Gon doesn’t hold that against her. “I didn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Killua…” Her gaze softens. “You’re family. Really — it’s no trouble.”

Meeting her gaze, he’s aware of his heartbeat as he feels a sudden connection. She sees past his soaked state and understands why he’s here. The warmth in her eyes tells him she wants him here and cares. His throat grows tight and he looks away. Memories crowd the room. There’s the plain wooden table where that first time, he’d sat on his best behaviour, checking out her and Abe and how they were with Gon, until he forgot himself, warmed and sated by her food and the way the three of them clearly loved each other. Not love as he’d known it at home. Near the fire, there’s the old couch where he and Gon wrestled and beat each other up with cushions — he smiles softly. On the mantle over the hearth, his face looks out from several photos including one of him and Gon at the lake with a massive fish. They’re both covered in mud. Mito had insisted on washing all their clothes again. He pulls in a deep breath. “Sorry, Mito. Next time I’ll tell you.” 

“Good.” She nods as though that’s settled. “Gon should be back soon. How long will you stay?”

“The boat leaves in four hours.” He rocks on his feet. “Will he be back before then?” 

 Mito’s eyebrows shoot up. “Killua! No, I don’t believe you!” She swings away from him, and walks to the kitchen counter. “It’s been too long,” she says with her back to him. As she leans, scrunching her fingers into the wood, Killua’s stomach twists. When she turns back, her eyes are dark and determined, just like Gon’s. “No. You can’t do that to him. You’ll stay two nights at least, until the next boat. If not longer.”

He opens his mouth to thank her.

“No — ” Her hand cuts him off. “Don’t argue.” 

Huh. He closes his mouth without speaking. Another warm surge in his chest, though he’s still stupidly nervous, needing to see Gon. 

She gestures him upstairs. “Put your things in his room. Bathe, and change into his clothes if none of yours are dry. You look like a drowned kitten.” 

 _I do not_. Killua scowls. _Not even a cat._ Though he’s not really offended. 

“Then come back down here,” Mito continues,“and I’ll feed you.”

 

 

He drops his bag with a soft thud on Gon’s rug. The weird feeling Gon knows he’s here is still bugging him, despite what Mito’s said. He’s so tired, though, he can’t help noticing how cosy Gon’s bed looks, with its faded blue and green quilt and two plump pillows crookedly stacked at the top. Nah, if he crashes there, he’ll just wet Gon’s pillow.

He should bathe like Mito said. It might help him unwind. Maybe some of his fretting is just exhaustion. 

Without really thinking, he’s drifted silently across the room to Gon’s desk. His fingertips brush along the pale worn wood before Gon’s keyboard, along a deep gouge. It’s lined with ink from a pen. He can practically feel Gon’s frustration, forced to sit here doing schoolwork. He must’ve stared out this window for hours, past the road and forest and out to sea. Killua frowns — Gon would’ve been happier wandering among the trees or along the sea shore. But as his eyes lower back to the desk, there are lumps of bleached coral and a jar of shells that bring a smile to his lips. There’s a sea-tumbled urn that could be from some shipwreck, with some long twigs sprouting interesting purple leaves shoved in it. And, there’s Gon’s Hunter’s license poking out from beneath a stack of journals. 

Killua reaches for the journals, his fingers hovering over them. Gon had said he wrote their journey down. Killua had thought he’d type it, but is this it, written by hand? 

He bites his lip. These might hold Gon’s thoughts on everything, including what Killua said to him that last day. 

Beside the journals is that photograph. He has it too. Gon, himself and Alluka, in front of the World Tree. Killua touches the side of the frame. Each of them is smiling. Bright blue sky. Pressure grows behind the wall of his chest. He brushes his thumb over the glass cover, alongside Gon’s face. Rain drums on the window. He stares back in time. Droplets run down the glass outside. Eventually he gazes past them. Past bright fields and dark forest, to where the ocean stretches into mist on the horizon.

…From here, Gon must be able to see all the boats arrive.

“Ohh,” he breathes as his weird certainty falls into place. No wonder he’d felt Gon knew he was here. Dammit, if he’d stayed at the jetty and helped, he’d have probably run into him. He peers down the road. Nothing yet.

Even leaning over the desk, he can still feel the boat rumbling through his bones and pebbles crunching underfoot. If he bathes now, he’ll probably just fall asleep in the tub. 

Well, he’s never just done what he’s told, and he figures Mito will understand. Soon, his shoes and wet cape, jeans and socks are piled beside Gon’s bed. He sinks onto the edge and his fingers brush into the soft cotton quilt. He bites his lip, touching his wet hair, feeling like Silverlocks in the fairy tale he used to read Alluka. That’d make Gon baby bear. He chuckles. Would Gon mind that? A moment later, he’s climbing in, lying down on his side and pulling the bedding up to his cheek. His wet head sinks into Gon’s pillow. 

Three days of almost no sleep. Weariness sweeps his eyes shut, and he inhales slowly. He breathes in sunshine as if he’s brushing his nose into Gon’s hair like he does whenever they hug. His sense of sea is overtaken by deeply rooted trees. A smile curves his lips. The bed sways but wraps around him, holding him firm. There’s the scent of warm earth and decaying leaves as he and Gon run together. His blood tingles. He’s running between the trunks and leaping from branch to branch with Gon at his side. Gon, who can keep up with him. He can smell the lake edge where Kon had thrown fish out for Gon. ‘Welcome home,’ Killua’d said to Gon back then, understanding the gesture. _Home._ Later, under the stars, Gon had turned glowing amber eyes on him in the firelight and told him being together made him happy. Killua can feel that night as though it’s now. Tension he’s been carrying the whole time he’s travelled leaks from his muscles, leaving his limbs heavy. He’s still running through the trees but he’s held firm for the first time in an age. He dreams of him and Gon together, hands touching as they run, hearts beating fast. Until, sometime later, a whisper winds through his dream. Gon’s voice, low and soft. “ _Killua…”_

And this time he’s not dreaming when he feels Gon’s fingers, gentle in his hair. At first he waits, barely breathing, just feeling. Then he cracks his eyes open. Deep brown eyes are smiling into his. His heart races.

“You’re here!” Gon’s voice is still soft, in the twilight, but he beams from ear to ear, leaning on his forearm on the edge of the mattress. “You never told me you were coming.”

“Yeah.” Killua’s smile answers Gon’s. “You don’t _need_ to tell anyone when you’re coming home.”

Gon’s eyes widen, then grow glossy as if he might cry, then he leans in and winds his arms around Killua’s neck. Killua wriggles up closer and hugs him back hard, as hard as he loves him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This hasn't been beta read, so if I've made any mistakes, I'm open to hearing! I'm really grateful for any kudos or comments - they let me know if this worked okay and make me really happy.


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